A Scene at a Mailbox
by Zamael
Summary: Four letters. Begins with an L. Makes communication, both by words and by mail, compeletely impossible.


It was an early evening in a street corner, but regardless already dark, because of the time of the year. Not that the mailbox cared: Even the snow falling over it didn't bother it. It's dull and boring, the life of a mailbox. Nothing ever happens: People just drop their mail in and leave, the mailman just picks it up and leaves, that's that. Never anything interesti- no wait, mailboxes aren't even alive. Forget I said all that.

Although, if this particular box, in a particular street corner of a particular american small town, would be alive, it would now be intently observing what is going on, because moments like this only came up once or twice a year. It was the only thing that would keep the poor box alive and sane: The struggle of a young man or a boy, as he would go through a mighty inner conflict with himself: It was always about a girl, and whether he could send her that letter or a small package, confessing his undying love for her. What if she rejected him? What if she only wanted to be friends, and now that would be ruined forever too? Could he ever recover from that?

The subject was maybe twelve years old, certainly no older than thirteen, with a blonde, spiky hair, holding what appeared to be a little gift, covered by a wrapping with hearts on it and a yellow ribbon. Christmas was coming up, puny humans sent each other presents, and clearly this was the best of times for the boy to do this, unless he wanted to wait for two months until Valentine's Day. He was struggling with such a simple task, something he had done before for other people - hell, he had sent a gift for _her_ before! Just... Nothing like this. It seemed like an impossible task this time. If he did this, chances were his life would take a turn to the better, but if he didn't, he was a weak coward who didn't deserve her and who might as well lay down and die.

He was so preoccupied with his inner battle that he did not notice another person, of his age but opposite sex, approaching the mailbox. Not that the girl did any better job in noticing him, either: She was holding a package as well, something that also had a nice cute gift wrapping and a ribbon, this one blue. Looking at that little package in her arms, she would have crashed straight on to the boy, had she not by coincidence stopped right at the mailbox: As both adolescents simultaneously raised their heads from their respective packages, saw the other one, jumped straight up letting a short scream and blushing, the box helped itself some metaphorical popcorn, because _this_ was a scene that would only play once a century.

"Oh, uh, hi... Calvin."

"Susie."

An awkward silence followed. They both desperately tried to look anywhere but their eyes: She concentrated upon her feet, while he found something interesting from the snow at the walkway. This continued for a minute or so.

"So, uh..." The boy named Calvin started. "How're you doing...?"

"Oh, fine, y'know... I was just...", she responded. "Going to send my present for grandma..." She held out the package for him to see, accompanied with an embarrased grin.

"Yeah... I was just about to send this for... Uncle Max! Yeah."

"It's got hearts in it."

If it was any way possible for his blush to deepen, it did. "Yeah, so? I mean... We, uh, have a lot of this heart gift wrapping at home, for some reason..."

"Oh, okay..." Another awkward silence, before she continued: "Yeah, I'm just going to..."

Obviously they both still held some doubts over putting those packages to the mail, but neither of them could no longer make any excuses not to. And so they did, almost simultaneously. What followed, was - you guessed it: It seemed like people never had anything to say in situations like this.

"Yeah, so... How's Hobbes?"

"Oh, he's, y'know... He's fine. He's always fine. Probably going to pounce at me when I get home."

"Oh, okay... Say him hi from me."

"Sure... Right." A silence. "Okay, I think I should be going now..."

"Yeah, me too. See you later."

"Yeah..."

Perhaps the most incredible thing about the whole meeting was, that despite the subtext being as visible as a clown at a funeral for any passer-by, both of the children were compeletely blind at it. And they would suspect nothing until Christmas Day, when them both would discover that they had received something compeletely different they usually got from the other one. What happened after that, most likely, was history.

And the mailbox just stood, at its street corner, forever and ever, as perfectly still and definitely not alive as mailboxes always were.


End file.
